


can't get enough of your time

by angryjane



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Autistic Simon Snow, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Boyfriends, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Home, M/M, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Pure, Random & Short, Short & Sweet, Short One Shot, Sweet, Their Love Is So, This is so soft, giggles, god i'm so soft for these fuckers, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 05:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjane/pseuds/angryjane
Summary: Simon and Baz cuddle on the couch. That's it, that's the story.





	can't get enough of your time

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this to get over my writer's block. it was fun to write and i'm so SOFT for these fuckers.  
> enjoy :)  
> oh, and the title is from "Walking Home" by Hinds. it's really sweet, would recommend.
> 
> i forgot to write in sion's wings and tail, so let's just pretend they're still spelled away.

Simon Snow is lying on the sofa.

More accurately: he’s lying on my lap, on the sofa, and I’m running my fingers through his curls like I’ve wanted to for years.

He’s got his eyes closed, but he’s not sleeping—he keeps kicking his legs out every few minutes-- and there’s a little content smile on his face. He’s wearing sweats and a tank top, the hem riding up the slightest bit to show his belly button.

There’s a mole beside it. I lean over and trail a finger over it, and he giggles.

“Baz, that _tickles_ ,”

“Oh, does it?” I ask, and move my fingers gently over the spot again. His eyes pop open and he glares playfully. I raise an eyebrow back, a challenge.

“Stop, Baz.” He hums, closing his eyes again. Challenge denied, then. Oh well, I have other ways of getting him to pay attention to me.

I drag my fingers back up over his body, catching on his collarbones slowly, pulling his chin up, tilted, eyes still shut indignantly, but he’s huffing a little giggle. My fingers skim lightly over his lips, dance between the moles on his cheeks, tapping each one, missing none (I could point them all out with my eyes closed), and slide up the bridge of his nose to his brow. I slip my hand back into his hair and tug lightly.

“ _Baz_.” He sighs, faux-exasperated, but he’s grinning for real now, and cracks an eye open to look up at me.

“Can I help you?” I ask innocently.

Simon rolls his eyes.

“Did you need something, or did you just want to keep me from napping?” He asks, shifting a little so his face buries further in my stomach, pushing his head up into my hand. Ha. _Got you._

“Mm. I’m bored.” I tell him, but it’s a lie. I could spend forever just watching him.

“Sounds like a you problem.” He closes his eyes again, nose burying in my t-shirt.

“You’re my _boyfriend_ , Snow, and therefore all my problems are your problems.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“It so.” I sound like a child, but I don’t mind. Snow makes me childish, and I cherish every second of it. Oh, if Father could see me now. He’d have a bloody heart attack.

“’Iz not.” He mumbles, and I feel the rumble of it against my thighs.

“Is too.” I’m dragging my hand through his curls again, and he’s practically _purring_ against me. If only I’d known this was the easiest way to disarm him back in third year. “You said it yourself, you don’t know how to be a boyfriend.”

He chuckles. “Whatever.” I feel his grin in my stomach.

“Mm, whatever my ass.” But I drop it, because Simon is an _amazing_ boyfriend, and I make sure he knows it.

I stretch my arms up over my head, and Snow grumbles against me as I shift. He slides down a little so his face is buried against my hip, where a little piece of skin peeks out, his warm breath ghosting over it. I shudder.

He sits up a little, then, so he’s facing me on the couch, knees pressed up against mine, leaning over into my space. He pushes his face closer, so I’m breathing his air and his hands fall to the cushions beside my hips, trapping me between the back of the couch and him.

“Baz,” He whispers, and I hold my breath. He smells like vanilla and cherries.

“Yeah?”

“Can we order take away?”

“Fuck you.” I say then, pushing him away, but I’m smiling. Snow seems to have that affect on me; no matter what stupid shit he pulls, I’m always smiling.

He’s smiling now too, flopping back against me again, this time his back against my chest and his head tucked under my chin.

“Please, Baz?”

“God, you’re insufferable!” But I’m leaning over to grab my phone off the coffee table and punching the number in anyway. Simon squeals victoriously in my lap. I hate him.

I’m halfway though the order when Simon turns his head up towards me, eyes catching mine with a mischievous glint. I raise an eyebrow back, still listing off our usual order, when he pipes up,

“Honey, come back to bed~”

I sputter a little into the phone, and I think I hear something break on the other end.

“Uh,” the worker says, then clears her throat. “Sir”

“Yes, sorry. As I was saying, we’ll have…”

Simon giggles again, practically rolling in my lap, and I swat at him.

When the order’s placed and I’ve hung up, I glare down at him. He gives me puppy eyes, that absolute _nightmare._

“Insufferable.” I repeat, and he grins at me, leaning up to press a kiss to my chin as condolences.

Apology accepted.

He shuffles back down into my lap, letting out this stupid adorable little sigh of contentment, and presses a hand against my chest beside his head, right where my heart would beat if it could.

“Babum babum babum.” He mutters, tapping his stubby fingers against it in a rhythm I can’t decipher. He does these things sometimes, makes little noises and motions that don’t make sense to me, but I’ve lived with him long enough to know to let it be. Sometimes he’ll do things in a pattern, or over and over until he’s satisfied, and he’s dug up that stupid red ball again, tossing it around with him wherever he goes.

He doesn’t like it when I wear my tweed jacket. He says he hates the way it feels, and won’t touch me if I wear it. I gave it to the Goodwill.

He pats his hand on my chest eight times now, then rubs over it eight times again.

I lean down and put eight kisses in his curls. So we match.

We’re quiet at length, and I think he’s asleep before he suddenly sits up in my lap, head knocking painfully into mine on the way up.

“Baz! Baz, guess what!”

“What, Simon?” I ask, rubbing my chin. He doesn’t seem to notice my slip up with the name-- he’s practically bouncing, adorably excited about whatever it is he remembered, and so I don’t have the heart to pick at him for smacking me. Besides, it’s not like I can bruise.

“Did I tell you about the rabbit I saw this morning?”

I shake my head.

“It was so soft, it went right up to my hand and sniffed it all—“ He imitates it, sniffing oddly at my nose, “—weird-like, and then it nuzzled me. It _nuzzled me_ , Baz.”

“Sounds magical.” I intone, half sarcastic, half bored, but he knows me well enough to know I like when he tells me these frivolous little things.

“It _was,”_ He says indignantly, taking the bait. He turned his nose up at me, crossing his arms over his chest. In doing so, he exposed a mole on his throat, a little one, and i swoop down and kiss it. He giggles, and I nip at it for good measure.

“You’re so-“ He’s cut off by the doorbell ringing, and stumbles immediately out of my lap and towards the door, stopping only to pull some money out of my wallet.

When he comes back with the food, I’ve grabbed forks from the kitchen and we land back on the couch again, not curled up together anymore, but there’s time for that later. Right now, I want to eat.

“What were you saying?” I ask. He quirks an eyebrow at me and tilts his head, confused. “Before,” I continue, “I’m so what?”

“Oh, that.” He says through a mouthful, a noodle dropping out of his mouth. I chuck my napkin at him. “I was gonna say you’re so soft.’

I scoff, picking at my rice. “Am not.”

“Are too.” He sounds unbelievably smug, grinning devilishly at me, and _Merlin,_ that shouldn’t be such a good look on him, but it _is._

“Whatever you say, Snow.”

“You called me Simon before.” Shit.

“No I didn’t.” Smooth, Basil, real smooth.

He only shrugs.

I swat at him, and he giggles.

“It’s okay though. I like it when you’re soft.” He tells me earnestly, shrugging again before stuffing his face with noodles. He’s holding his chopsticks wrong.

“Me too.” I say, and it’s true.

**Author's Note:**

> comments would be lovely!! did I write them in character? do I capture Baz's pov well? did i write the intimacy and softness, well.. soft enough?? i'd love to know!!
> 
> oh and?? simon snow is autistic. die mad about it. i'll die on this hill.
> 
> have a wonderful day, fuckers!! i love you!!!


End file.
